


ein Wesen mich zu gehen drängt

by moon_waves



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Drunk Sex, Friends With Benefits, Herzeleid Era, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24376510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_waves/pseuds/moon_waves
Summary: Schneider had never claimed to have his best ideas while completely and utterly drunk.
Relationships: Oliver Riedel & Christoph Schneider | Doom, Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann, Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann/Christoph Schneider | Doom, Till Lindemann/Christoph Schneider | Doom
Comments: 16
Kudos: 39





	ein Wesen mich zu gehen drängt

In hindsight, Schneider would reflect in the following days, leaving the alcohol to Paul and Flake was sure to not have been a good idea. In fact, he might even have called it a _bad_ idea, except for the fact that none of them had actually gotten sick – he had some dreadful memories of post-concert parties with Feeling B that had involved alcohol poisoning due to some adulterated vodka… – and that there had been no consequences to _that_ evening.

But while their little pre-release party was happening, such thoughts were away from his mind – so far away they weren’t even formed, actually. They were all enjoying a bright, warm summer evening, chilling in Till’s house near the woods, all six of them relaxing before the release of _Herzeleid_ , almost giddy with excitement, eager for their first concerts together, and confident they were going to have a great time on the road. Recording the album had opened his eyes to a new side of his former roommates, and he couldn’t say the experience had been bad – not when it had allowed him to grow closer to Till as well, and realizing the singer and he had far more in common that he had expected, at first.

Their peculiar taste in bedroom games, for example. Schneider had been made aware of his own proclivities rather early, as he had been told, but the punk East-German scene sure had helped him meet the right people rather sooner than later, and yet he hadn’t expected any of new bandmates to be as aware of their tastes as he was. Well, not that all of them _were_ aware – his former roommates, for example, were both blissfully ignorant of that the possibilities that could offer themselves to them, and he still wasn’t too sure as far as Paul and Flake were concerned – but Till…

Oh, Till. Eager for pain and orders – finding pleasure in obeying and hurting, just as he found pleasure in giving orders. He couldn’t say he enjoyed handing out pain quite as much as Till liked receiving it, at least at the beginning, but he had started discovering quite many things about himself since they had started their arrangement – and it was a lot better to do it with someone he knew, liked and trusted than with a complete stranger.

It had been a glorious discovery all in itself, and their newfound dynamic had almost immediately helped him find his footing and stand by it, while they had been in the process of building Rammstein right from the ground up. He knew perfectly well that the others were aware of their arrangement, though the specificities hadn’t been disclosed, but nobody seemed to have a problem with that.

(Except maybe for Richard, but the guitarist being vaguely possessive of Till without him minding it in the slightest was one of the facts of life Schneider had come to terms with while they were still roommates.)

(Paul and Flake had a bet running on the situation, that he sure as hell wasn’t participating in, but he suspected Ollie to be monitoring the damn thing without peeping a word. Too quiet for his own good, this one.)

They were all on their way to get shit-faced drunk, the kind of drunkenness that would leave them reeling with a hungover the morning after, unable to do anything worthwhile for a whole day, but it didn’t matter at the time – they were together, having a great time, and although the conversation was falling down pits of strange logic that could never be reached by a sober mind, no one minded it.

Looking back, Schneider couldn’t have said how the events unfolded exactly, as the hours tickled by into the night and all of them were past being steadily drunk, having alternated between vodka and Jägermeister to a point that wasn’t reasonable anymore. He remembered being in a lively discussion with Ollie and Flake while Paul was mumbling to himself, half-asleep on an armchair already, aware of Till’s body next to his, the two of sitting on the couch, his calm speech bouncing back steadily from Richard’s chatter. That much, he remembered – the numerous can of beer on the coffee table, the bottle of Jägermeister being passed back and forth between them while the others were sharing some vodka…

Ollie and Flake calling it a night, the two of them teaming up to bring Paul back to his bed…

Till inviting him back in the conversation, and then all three of them making their way to Till’s bedroom, him in charge of the bottle of Jägermeister while Richard was cradling his bottle of vodka, still chatting about some nonsense he had tuned out, too focused on the warm, inviting body of Till…

And all three of them ending up on Till’s bed, the singer squished between them.

From that point, his memories were a little blurry – _a lot_ blurry, he would later insist to Ollie, who had managed to get the whole story out of him with an unflappable expression that meant the bassist thought he was full of shit – but he still mostly remembered what had happened, details be damned.

Shoes had disappeared between the entrance of the house and the bedroom, jackets weren’t needed in the middle of summer, he was vaguely aware of his shirt having been hazardously thrown on a chair – the air was hot in Till’s bedroom, and it wasn’t entirely due to the weather, nor to the copious amount of alcohol he had been drinking.

And Richard was still chatting, leaning on one side, curled against Till, using his head to support his head while the other was tapping lightly across Till’s sternum to mark his words. Till, lying on the mattress with a pillow behind his head, was staring at him with bright eyes, face open, attention turned to whatever it was that Richard was saying. He was still wearing his shirt, Schneider absent-mindedly noticed, looking at him in silence for a moment, arousal burning through his veins as he took in Till’s powerful frame, languidly lying, apparently ready and willing for everything that could open, cheeks pink with alcohol – and was it something else?

After having gazed his fill, Schneider finally joined them on the bed, settling against Till, mirroring Richard’s position except for the fact that his hand was resting on top of Till’s thigh rather than on his chest. They hadn’t bothered turning on the light when they had come in, and he was struck by the out-of-world atmosphere, as the moonlight was painting shadows over them, erasing sharp lines and tension with a brush of darkness.

The smell of alcohol was strong in the room and he eyed the bottle of Jägermeister that was now sitting on the desk before ignoring it, mind fuzzy. He probably had been drinking enough for the night and focused on Till again, reading on his face that he had never expected to find himself in that kind of position – and yet that he was enjoying every minute of it, cheeks flushing up a deep pink, arousal blooming in his eyes and further south. Richard, obviously, wasn’t thinking anything about it, still chatting away –

and Schneider tuned him back on again, wondering what the guitarist had been talking about until then.

Oh, right. Hook-ups. The advantages of being in a band to get laid, and preferably with beautiful women – yeah, easier as a guitarist probably, but Schneider sure as hell wasn’t complaining about what he had gotten either, and –

“– and I just think,” Richard said, slurring his words, fingers tapping across Till’s sternum, eyes glossy with alcohol, “I just think it’s not the best circumstances to experiment, you know? With serious stuff, at least.”

“Serious stuff,” Till repeated, watching him, and Schneider snorted at his slow tone.

Well over drunk, all three of them.

Richard glared at him at the noise.

“What,” he said in a hiss, frowning, fingers stilling over Till’s heart – had he done it on purpose, Schneider asked himself in the corner of his mind that did not feel like it was working through molasses.

“Serious like what?” Schneider asked, rather proud of himself for having spoken up correctly.

At least he thought he hadn’t eaten any syllable – the others two looked like they had understood him clearly as well.

Richard scoffed.

“Like those things you two do,” he said with a slur, handwaving his hand in Schneider’s direction, a frown still present on his face. “The tying up and pain stuff. I’ve seen the bruises, you know.”

A small keening noise came from Till and the two of them turned to look at him. He was still flushing deep, vulnerability vibrant in his green eyes, biting on his lower lip, and Richard seemed to soften at the sight, placing his hand back on him again, patting him gently before stilling.

“I’m not blind,” he concluded with a vaguely triumphant tone.

Schneider stared at him for a moment before a very stupid plan started to form in his mind. Later in the day, he would swear to hell and back that _everything_ had been in the spur of the moment – but, sadly for him, Ollie wouldn’t believe him at all.

“I never said you were,” he said carefully, making sure to articulate each word.

He briefly squeezed Till’s thigh before slowly moving his hand higher, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He heard a very soft whine coming from Till before the singer squirmed a little under his hand, without giving any indication that he wanted to move away.

“I just don’t think you’re very observant,” Schneider went on, still holding Richard’s glare.

The guitarist huffed, frown intensifying, before shifting closer to Till. Possessiveness was coating each and every of his moves, disinhibited by alcohol. The two musicians glared at each other for a long moment before Till squirmed again as Schneider’s hand finally reached his crotch.

The hard-on pressing against his palm was all the proof he needed to go ahead with his idea, still so drunk that he completely ignored all the ways this could violently backfire.

“I’m very much observant,” Richard finally protested, pausing between words. “I _see_ things.”

“Well you’re not seeing the elephant in the middle of the room,” Schneider pointed out triumphally before stopping, suddenly tracing back his words.

No, that was the correct expression. He probably should stop using metaphors, though.

He squeezed Till’s erection lightly, smirk growing at the little noise that escaped him, and waited for Richard to finally put two and two together. The guitarist stared at him before blinking and turning his attention onto Till, tilting his head to the side as he took in his flushed cheeks, lower lip still being bitten, a vulnerable and pleading expression on his face. Then his eyes traveled down, slowly, patiently, until landing on Schneider’s hand.

“Uh,” he said.

Schneider opened his mouth to make a comment but stopped himself as Till squirmed again under his hand, trying to get some friction. He turned his attention onto the singer, raising his eyebrows in what he hoped was an interrogation expression – and was rewarded with a little nod. Nodding himself in return, he clumsily unbuttoned Till’s jeans and tugged on them without them moving before reaching for the inside of his boxers.

Richard coughed over them and both turned to look at him.

“We’re a bit busy,” Schneider pointed out.

Richard shrugged.

“I’m leaving if Till wants me to,” he mumbled before rolling on his back and reaching for the bottle of vodka.

He took a swig and almost choked on it, vodka dripping down from the corners of his mouth, before putting it back on the nightstand and wiping his mouth with his shirt. He stared at the tissue as if he had never seen it before and then awkwardly took it off, grumbling a little as his earring got stuck into it before finally managing to throw it away. He looked particularly disheveled in the moonlight, hair spiking up in disarray – and Schneider was suddenly hit by the urge to bend him over the bed as well.

A little noise came out from Till and he looked at the singer again, before immediately turning his gaze away at the look of longing and despair on his face – this was the expression of someone who had resigned himself to never be able to _touch_ , and he suddenly felt like he was intruding on a private moment.

An alarm went off in his mind but he didn’t pay it any attention, too drunk to care about the remnants of sobriety still floating around, cautiousness gone in a flush of Jägermeister.

Richard settled on the bed again, one hand over Till’s shirt, the other on his pillow just over his hair. He was putting all his weight on his forearm, the notion was hitting Schneider through the haze of drunkenness, but neither of them said anything. Silence stretched into the room and something morphed into Richard’s face – could it have been disappointment? He started leaning away before Till suddenly grabbed him by the wrist without saying anything. They looked at each other for a long time, almost holding a silent conversation – drenched in vodka and Jägermeister – before Richard’s shoulders relaxed and both turned to look at him with expectant eyes.

He squeezed Till’s hardness through the cotton layer of his boxers and was rewarded with a little whine before Till bit his lower lip again. He started stroking him up and down slowly, watching with fascination as Till kept chewing on his lip – and then Richard started playing with his hair, turning errand strands around his fingers before slightly tugging on them, arm resting on his elbow, his other tapping over Till’s shirt again.

“As I was saying,” he said with a drawl, pretending to play it cool and falling miserably, but they were all too drunk to realize it, “random hook-ups aren’t the best circumstances for _that_ ,” and he pointed his chin at the space between Till’s and Schneider’s bodies.

Schneider shrugged.

“You say that because no _one_ ever tied you up to a headboard before having their way with you,” he pointed out, letting his nails drift across sensitive skin, smirking at the small noises that were escaping Till against his will every now and then.

Richard frowned at him but he was sure there was a blush spreading on his cheeks.

“You should try it,” he suggested helpfully before focusing on Till again.

The singer was quiet – always tended to be quiet, in such situation, but there was an unusual shyness to his silence, this time, and, as far as Schneider’s drunken mind could consider, this wouldn’t do. His technical pride was at stake after all, and he intended on hearing the soft moans and whimpers he knew he could get.

(Even if his technique was maybe less good than usual, less coordinated for sure, but that didn’t even register in his mind.)

“I’m not letting a stranger tie me up to a headboard,” Richard said with a little huff before shifting closer to Till, fingers running circles over his shirt, apparently oblivious to the hand still holding onto his wrist. “You never know who you might end up with.”

“Maybe you should try with someone you know, then,” Schneider pointed out, flexing his wrist a little, satisfaction blossoming as a little moan escaped Till.

He needed to intensify the pressure just a little – and did so, suddenly more satisfied with his grip on Till’s erection.

There was a thoughtful expression on Richard’s face, singularly contrasting with the glassy look of his eyes. He didn’t seem to be aware he was playing with Till’s hair still, putting all of his focus on the conversation – and, yeah, Schneider could understand that. He had a hard time splitting his own focus between Till and Richard after all.

“I don’t know, being tied up sounds pretty boring,” Richard finally said, a bit reluctantly,

Schneider squinted, a bit indignant.

“You say that because you lack imagination,” he mumbled with a slur before focusing on his rhythm for a few moments, making sure to set an erratic pace that would keep Till on edge. “First, the restraints. Just with that, there are lots of possibilities,” and he took his time articulating the word. “Handcuffs? Ties? Rope?”

“ _Rope_?” Richard repeated, perplexed, and Schneider suspected he was scratching Till’s head at the same time – the blissful expression on his face was too familiar. “That doesn’t seem very comfortable.”

“Depends what you’re looking for,” Schneider said with a shrug. “But, uh, yeah, no, _you_ like to be comfortable –”

“Who doesn’t,” Richard grumbled but Schneider ignored him.

“So, handcuffs are out of the picture, unless you go for a leather pair,” he pondered out loud, not missing the way Till’s body was reacting at his words.

The image was nice for sure.

Richard looked doubtful but motioned for him to continue, still curling closer to Till. He was half-leaning over him by now, one of Till’s legs stuck between his, crotch pressing against his hip, and Schneider half-wondered if the bulge he could spot was just a shadow or something more tangible.

“Or ties,” Schneider went on. “Basic cotton ties, or some of the fancier stuff, like silk ties. Lots of things to be done with silk ties, too.”

Till whimpered beneath him and they both immediately looked at him. Schneider patted him soothingly on the shoulder while Richard made a few cooing noises, hand moving from his chest to his cheek, rubbing it gently.

“You’re doing good,” Schneider assured him, not missing the way Till’s eyes hard darkened, arousal clear on his face.

“Be nice to him,” Richard chided before bending down to smack a wet kiss on the singer’s forehead, completely unfazed by the position he was in.

“I _am_ being nice,” Schneider protested before slapping his arm lightly, getting a yelp of protestation from the guitarist. “You would know if I wasn’t,” he added sourly, and Richard was going to retort when Till whimpered between them.

“Please,” he said quietly before raising begging eyes towards Schneider.

He wasn’t quite sure what was being asked of him but – yes, he could get things moving. He turned his attention back onto the pace of his strokes, noticing he had almost stopped. That wouldn’t do – not at all, Till had been so good so far – and he resumed stroking him, making sure to remain slow but steady.

“Ties,” he said, and Richard turned his attention back on him, looking a bit flushed. “Silk ties. Good to get tied up to the bed, and they can be used for other stuff, too. Like –” Till moaned, bit his lip and whimpered, squirming under Schneider’s ministrations. “As a blindfold, too,” he said helpfully, noticing Richard squinting at his words. “Or for other restraints.”

“Other restraints,” Richard repeated flatly.

Or what could be considered as flatly when drunk out of his mind and still playing with his best friend’s hair while said best friend was getting a hand job next to him. Schneider was starting to get really constricted in his pants as well, and he sifted a little on the mattress, trying to relieve some of the pressure.

“Yeah. Just, imagine,” he said slowly, keeping the same agonizingly slow pace, “pick a set of ties. Black ties – or red ties, whatever. You like red.”

“Silk ties.”

“Yeah. So, pick two to get tied to the bed,” Richard hummed a little at that and wriggled before settling against Till again, “and pick another one to get used as a blindfold. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said slowly, and Till squirmed under Schneider’s hand, obviously focusing very hard on not making any sound.

“So, you’re tied up to the bed, can’t see anything, and the only other person in the bedroom is someone you trust, obviously,” Schneider went on, surprisingly finding himself quite enjoying his current situation. “You don’t know what’s going to happen, nor in which order, only that it is going to feel _really_ good and –”

Till whined. They both looked at him again.

“I’m starting to think you’re not very good at getting him off, Doom,” Richard muttered before glaring at him.

“Are you putting my skills in question?” Schneider asked, clearly offended and not even trying to hide it.

Richard nodded.

“Looks like you need some help,” he said slowly before turning his attention back on Till again.

Schneider opened his mouth to protest and then closed it, not believing his eyes, as Richard bent his head before kissing Till lightly. Till remained immobile for a moment before tentatively answering the kiss, a soft little noise escaping him. Fascinated, Schneider watched as Richard tilted his head back, gently tugging on his hair, his other hand cupping Till’s cheek, before slowly deepening the kiss.

Till whined again, one hand still holding on Richard’s wrist – hadn’t let go since the beginning – while the other searched for something to hold onto before gripping Schneider’s waist. He hissed a little at the sudden contact, Till’s nails drawing sharp lines on his skin, before resuming his stroking.

He took his time bringing Till close to the edge, the sound of the pair kissing loud in the room, only joined by the wet movement of his hand stroking Till, setting up a pace that was completely at odds with Richard’s kissing. He couldn’t have said how long it lasted, mind buzzing with alcohol and arousal, Till squirming and wiggling on the bed as Richard was passionately – and sloppily – kissing him, only stopping every now and then to catch his breath.

Finally, he quickened his pace, watching with fascination as Till melted into the bed as his orgasm knocked him out, little gasps and moans swallowed by Richard until the very end. All tension seemed to leave his body and Richard straightened a little over him, giving him some space, as Schneider finally removed his sticky hand from his boxers, searching for dirty clothes to clean himself on before a pack of tissues was thrown at him without a word.

“You good?” he heard Richard asked in a muffled voice, and raised his eyes just in time to see Till nodding, a shy expression on his face.

He stopped cleaning himself, watching Till turn his head until it was hidden against Richard’s stomach, still blushing. Richard petted his hair for a few more minutes as Schneider finished cleaning his hand, making soft cooing noises at Till before turning his eyes towards him, sarcasm gone from his attitude.

“Yeah, I guess you’re okay,” Richard finally said before yawning loudly.

Schneider watched him with bafflement, feeling his eyebrows raise as the guitarist stretched and then curled against Till, one arm thrown across his chest, the other serving as pillow for his head, before immediately falling asleep. Soft snoring arose and Schneider looked at Till, who seemed to be slowly coming back to his senses – and yet completely taken aback by the position he had found himself in.

He squinted a little as Till moved one arm until he was holding Richard from behind, fingers playing with the tip of his hair, at the base of his neck, before turning his attention onto him. There was still a deep redness on his face but he seemed to have regain control of himself enough to speak up.

“Need a hand?” he asked quietly, eyes glinting in the darkness.

Schneider shrugged, the constricting sensation of his pants suddenly reminding itself to him.

“I wanted to fuck,” he said with a brutal honesty before sighing dramatically and leaning against Till again, a pout on his face.

Till chuckled.

“That will have to wait a little,” he said quietly before tugging him closer and raising his head for a kiss.

Schneider was only too happy to give him one, still astonished by the strange demonstration of possessiveness he had just witnessed, before shrugging it away. Till’s hand was cupping his ass firmly now, reminding him of the offer on the table.

“Well, if you’re up for it…” he said slowly before unbuttoning his jeans, mindful of the awkward angle his position would have for Till’s hand.

He made sure to keep quiet as Till’s deft fingers languorously brought him to completion, panting against Till’s shoulder, awkwardly onto Richard’s arm for equilibrium as the guitarist kept snoring away, dead to the world. He reached his climax without even expecting it, his orgasm almost taking him by surprise. The sudden wave of pleasure, added to the warmth of the room and all the alcohol he had ingested knocked him down and he barely had the time to clean Till’s hand before falling asleep.

The day after – he would have said the morning after, if morning including two in the afternoon – he nursed his hangover with a sorry expression on his face, trying his best not to let show what had happened the night before. Paul and Flake, bless them, seemed to be blissfully unaware – or maybe were just steering away from his sour face. Till was impassible as well, although it was difficult to ignore the longing in his eyes, while Richard walked around with apparently no memory of what happened. Given the amount of vodka he had drunk, that probably wasn’t impossible, but Schneider sure as hell wasn’t going to prod.

No, the only one who was causing him any issue was one quiet bassist who held him prisoner in the kitchen in front of his hangover breakfast and grilled him down about the events of the night until he spat out what he felt he remembered. He grumbled a little under the very unimpressed look Ollie leveled on him, but let it slide over him, claiming it had all been alcohol-induced and that he had never thought anything would come of it. He wasn’t sure he had managed to convince Ollie, but the bassist had agreed to drop the topic after a time, with a terribly scathing comment about his bed hair. 

He probably wouldn’t mix Jägermeister and vodka again.

Probably.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story, please consider leaving a comment.


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